


Okay, Fine, All Right

by morganya



Category: Queer Eye for the Straight Guy RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-20
Updated: 2004-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:09:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganya/pseuds/morganya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, it probably wasn't always so Fab.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Okay, Fine, All Right

It was Ted's turn to bring the booze, but his parents were zealous about the liquor cabinet and he didn't want to risk getting caught. The only thing that seemed safe to take was the crème de cassis, shoved way in the back of the kitchen cupboard, and it was probably six months old at least but he needed to get out of the house and he just didn't care anymore.

He met Carson out behind the school football field, where there were clumps of aspens and maples that did very well to disguise anyone who might be out there. Carson emerged from the half-dark, grinning, hands outstretched.

"What'd you bring? Gimme, gimme."

"Hold your horses," Ted said. The bottle was tucked into the inside of his coat, where there was a rip in the lining. He waited until they were safely in the shadows before bringing it out. "This was the only thing I could get."

Carson examined the bottle. "Well. Better than cooking sherry."

"You're bringing the booze next time," Ted said. The grass was still damp from the afternoon rain; he brushed off the worst and sat down cross-legged. Carson settled into a half-squat, half-crouch, hovering over the ground, which had to be hell on his knees.

"We only have mixers," Carson said. He unscrewed the bottle and drank. "Gack."

"Ingrate."

Carson shrugged and passed it back. "Pardon my spit."

Ted wiped the mouth of the bottle off with his sleeve and drank. It was over-sugared, with an underlying current of bitter fruit. "I'm going to agree with 'gack.'"

"See?" Carson said and held out his hand.

"I don't think there's much chance of getting drunk on this," Ted said.

"We could try."

"I'd rather not."

Carson stood up and started to pour the liquor on the ground. Ted snatched it back before it was too late.

"Need to refill it," he said, shrugging lamely, and shoved himself off the ground, tucking the bottle back in his coat. Before Carson could make fun of him he added, "Want a pizza?"

"If I'm not getting drunk, I want to go home and watch my show."

"Oh? Tina Yothers making a special appearance on Hollywood Squares or something?"

"We can't all be intellectuals, Taaad," Carson drawled. "I know you go home every night and write the dictionary out on flashcards or whatever..."

"Flashcards are so passè."

"No wonder your social life is booming."

There was a car in the parking lot with its lights on. They both froze in mid-step.

"Jesus," Ted said. "I don't -"

"If we -"

"Should've dumped the fucking _bottle_ -"

"Wait, wait, wait," Carson said. He stared at the car, sharp eyes not missing a detail, half-poised to run. "It might be okay. I think I've seen the car, it's some guy that takes Sculpture with me. Something something. I forget his name."

"Well, are you sure -"

"Hey," Carson shouted and waved at the car.

"Carson, for _Christ's_ sake..."

The car's headlights turned off; someone got out of the car, tall, football player's shoulders, face in shadow. "Hey."

"Hey," Carson said.

"Hey," Ted said.

"We thought you were a cop," Carson informed the figure. "Or a crazy guy with a knife. You're not either of those things, are you?"

"No, I'm me."

"Who's you? I know you're in class with me. That's it. And come out of the shadows, will you?"

The figure took a few steps forward, revealed dark eyes and faintly chubby cheeks. "Hi. Carson, right? Thom. With an H."

"Like Thom McCann? My sister loves your shoes. Ted, say hello."

"Hi," Ted said. He wasn't quite sure what to do with his feet, so he bent his leg behind him, lifting his heel off the ground.

"So what are you doing here, all on your lonesome?" Carson said. "You waiting for..."

"No. No, no. I'm just here." Thom flapped his hands awkwardly. In motion, he somehow seemed less imposing. "I'm just. You know. Here."

"Oh."

"Good a reason as any," Ted said.

"Yeah, I...Yeah. Look, you guys need a ride or somethin'? I've got..."

Carson was already opening the car door. "You don't mind shotgun, right, Ted? I'll be -" He cut himself off and sat down, shutting the door.

"Well, I guess that's it," Thom said.

The inside of Thom's car was filled with books, stray pieces of paper and broken pencils, redolent with old cigarettes and cloying marijuana smoke. Carson said, "Oh. Considered calling in the Red Cross? I hear they're good with disaster relief."

"Well, I..."

"Look at that." Carson had already lost interest in the car and started staring at the window. "You'd think they'd have taken their Christmas decorations down by now. Kris Kringle looks like he's getting heat stroke."

"Is he _always_ like this?" Thom said over the monologue.

"It's easier once you get used to it," Ted said. "I generally just start humming a song in my head whenever he starts talking."

"INXS works the best, I've found," Carson said.

Thom laughed. He seemed more comfortable now that he was driving, left elbow jutting out the open window, his other hand clasping the steering wheel lightly. He had large, pale hands, long straight fingers.

Ted rolled down his window. They were almost to his house.

"Where do you want me to drop you off?" Thom said. "In front, or, like..."

"Just anywhere."

"Thank you," Carson chirped from the backseat.

"Thank you," Ted echoed.

Thom shrugged. "Are you gonna do that thing for Sculpture?"

"Not well, but I'll do it."

"Yeah, me too."

Carson clambered gracelessly out of the car. Ted got out and then turned around to shut the door.

Thom looked up at him from the driver's side. "I guess I'll see you wandering out of the woods sometime." There might have been an edge around the corners of his laughter, but Ted couldn't be sure.

"Night, Tad," Carson said, already sauntering towards his front door. "Tell your parents to stock better liquor."

"Night."

Standing in the bathroom in his house, Ted took off his glasses and stared at the mirror, running his hands over his face, taking inventory of every pimple, every scar.

*****

Ted avoided the cafeteria. He used to force himself to go, back when he was a freshman, and all that happened was he wound up at a table that was too small for him, swirling lukewarm spaghetti around a dirty fork, trying to ignore the noise he wasn't part of.

If he had the car with him, he'd drive off-campus, go to Subway and wolf down a ham and cheese before racing back, making it to class by the skin of his teeth. However, the car was an unreliable shitbox on the best of days, and even if it happened to be working, half of the time his sister was using it for one reason or another. So he tended to skip lunch most days.

To pass the time between lunch and Algebra, Ted wandered the halls, scuffing his heels on the linoleum, making Sid Vicious faces at himself in the mirror in the boys' room. If he got caught by a teacher, he'd smile and pretend he knew exactly where he was going.

Up on the third floor, they were in the middle of spray-painting the lockers a uniform green, so that the hallways were filled with fumes. Someone was down at the end of the hall, kicking the hell out of one of the lockers; the empty rattle was piercingly loud.

"Hey," Ted said. "Hey, you all right?"

The kid, lean and pale-skinned, dyed orange hair drooping over his forehead, visibly started and turned around. "Hi. Uh, I was just. Just. You're not gonna..."

"Oh, no," Ted said. He sort of wished Carson were around; he was good at talking to people. But Carson tended to disappear at school; the only time he ever seemed to surface was in Biology, where he had the desk across from Ted's. Faced with new people, Ted was always afraid he was either going to lapse into wordless caveman grunts or start to babble inappropriately. The kid stood in front of him, bright red, twitching like a nerve. Ted said, "I've done that a few times myself. Works, doesn't it?"

"Yeah..."

"I'm Ted." He wondered if he should stick out his hand, or if that made him look too formal.

"Eddie."

"You all right, Eddie?"

"Yeah. I was - I'm fine."

"Okay."

"I'm gonna go now."

"Okay."

Eddie took off. Ted realized he was going to be late for class unless he hustled.

*****

Carson had borrowed his Biology textbook earlier that day and then forgotten to give it back. Which was typical. It was also typical that Ted had forgotten about it until he really needed it, which would be now.

He walked next door to Carson's house, up the walk that still had traces of shells and yolk embedded in the gravel, and knocked on the door. He was expecting Carson's mom to answer, but instead Carson opened the door and jerked him inside by the shoulders.

"Distraction! Hooray!"

"You have my Bio book," Ted said when the shock wore off. "And I need it."

"Oh. Not a social call, then. The thing is..."

"Did you lose it?"

"I _didn't.._ I _didn't._ It's in my room somewhere. I know exactly where it is."

"I'm so going to kill you."

"Calm down. Go in the kitchen, Mom got brownies. I'll find it."

Carson went upstairs. Ted went into the kitchen, mumbling to himself.

The brownies were store-bought, pale brown, filled with spiky nuts of indeterminate origin. Ted ate one anyway.

Within five minutes Carson had returned, triumphantly bearing the textbook. "Told you."

"I'm never lending you anything again."

"Oh..." Carson shrugged.

"Thank you." Ted started to shuffle out the door.

"C'mon, stay and entertain us."

"I'm not feeling very entertaining...who's 'us?'"

"Thom!" Carson shouted into the hallway, up the stairs. "Take a break. We'll deal with it later." He turned back and said, "That guy you met on Friday. We're trying to finish this project for class."

"And it's not fuckin' working," Thom said from the hallway. He stomped into the kitchen and glared past Ted as if it were his fault. "Hi."

"Hi," Ted said.

"It's really not that bad," Carson said. "I mean, it's halfway done."

"_Your_ half's done, you mean. How am I supposed to sculpt something that looks like Unity? I think Wilson's on crack." Thom took a brownie and chewed on it grumpily. "I hate that class. I wanted to take Woodworking. Fuckin' requirements."

"It's not due for a week," Carson soothed. "I mean, we just heard about it today." He looked at Ted. "Group project. Guess who got to be my partner. It's been like this all afternoon."

"You're both overachievers," Ted said.

Thom looked up from the brownie and blinked at Ted, finally recognizing him. "I drove you home on Friday."

"Yeah."

"He lives next door," Carson said. "So..."

"That gives me license to come over whenever I want," Ted said.

Thom considered them both, then took the plate of brownies and began to stack them, one on top of the other, turning the baked goods into a skyscraper, a collection of geometric shapes. "What were you guys doing out there anyway?"

"Drinkin'," Ted said.

"We weren't _drinking_," Carson said. "We were chugging that cheap syrupy stuff you brought and trying not to yack."

"Don't cast aspersions on my booze."

"My girlfriend knows this guy who can make IDs for twenty bucks," Thom said. "Not, like, perfect ones, but good enough to get by. Anyway, why do you want to go out into the woods and drink? Why don't you just use the basement?" Thom said. "That's what my brothers used to do."

Carson gestured around the kitchen. "Do you see a basement? Ted, do you have a basement we can use?"

"It's full of stuff," Ted said.

Thom shrugged. "We keep all our stuff in the garage. A couple of years ago my dad got all freaked out about the boiler exploding and water damage and whatever, so we just cleared everything out. Though it's not like we had anything of _value,_ anyway, just, like, old sweaters and clay ashtrays my brothers and I'd made in summer camp and stuff. Looked like a dumpster'd exploded." He delicately buttressed another brownie against the existing tower.

Ted thought that he liked the way Thom spoke, a chattery, nervous rush, almost but not quite like Carson's machine-gun patter, something with its own off-kilter rhythm. He said, "That's going to fall," pointing to the plate.

"Nah."

"So," Carson said. "When can we come over and drink in your basement, Thom?"

Thom looked up. "Hmm?"

The brownies, built up too high, not enough support, wobbled, tilted and fell, spreading crumbs across the kitchen counter.

*****

The times when Ted had the car, he usually wound up giving Carson a ride; they tended to leave the house at about the same time and Carson was a persistent finagler.

On a good day, it took forty-five minutes to drive to school, out of the suburbs and down a long stretch of empty road. Once they'd actually gotten into the school parking lot, Carson would immediately shrug off his personality like an overcoat; he would have changed colors to match the background if he were able to. It was all a part of survival.

"Hey, look," Ted said. They were halfway down the road, the stereo blaring the mix tape Ted had made, John Doe singing Adult Books resignedly. Outside the car, teetering between the ditches and the asphalt, was the kid Ted had met kicking a locker two weeks ago, Eddie. "He goes to school with us."

"Who, A Flock of Seagulls over there?" Carson leaned over to look. "He's going to be late, you know."

"Yep. Maybe we should offer him a ride."

"Think he'll take it?"

"Dunno." Ted didn't want to say he felt sorry for the kid.

"Give it a try then. Let's be Good Samaritans."

Ted slowed down, rolled down the window and said, "Hey! What's your name! Need a ride?"

The kid jumped and turned around. "What?"

Carson leaned over and shouted, "You skipping out?"

There was a volley of honking behind them; someone in a red Buick zoomed by, shouting, "Fucking fags," out the window. Ted rolled his eyes and muttered, "Christ. Moron." Carson continued without missing a beat, "You skipping out, or you need a ride?"

The kid tugged at his forelock. "Um, I..."

"You're not going to make it on time, you know," Ted said.

The kid dashed across the road and got into the back seat. "Thanks. Ted, right?"

"Yeah. This ugly thing next to me is Carson. Carson, this is Eddie."

"Really. Your names rhyme. Kind of. That's cute."

"Why are you walking?" Ted said. "School's like five miles away."

"Um," Eddie said. "Overslept. Couldn't get a ride. I don't drive."

"Carson flunked his driving test twice," Ted pointed out cheerily.

"Totally wasn't my fault. Those small children practically jumped in front of me."

Eddie looked unsure whether to laugh or not. He tugged at his hair again.

"It's okay, we're harmless," Carson said.

"Oh, I know, man. It's just, like, you know..."

The kid had no defenses at all, Ted thought. It was like having an open wound in the backseat.

"So," Carson said, smiling. "Your hair do that naturally, or..."

"Heh." Small smile, the hint of pointed teeth behind lips. "My sister did it. Didn't quite come out the way I wanted it to."

"I kind of like it," Carson said. "It's like toothpaste coming out of the tube. Right, Tad?"

The mix tape turned into Lost in the Supermarket. "That's sort of a gross image, Carson. That's not very nice."

"You don't mind, do you?"

"Could be worse," Eddie said. He shrugged. "I'm changing it next week. Just 'cause."

"Why don't you shave it?" Carson said. "Or do like an Ed Grimley thing. Or a Pepe Le Pew thing with a white stripe."

The first real smile. "Don't give me ideas, man."

The road stretched out ahead of them. "We are soooo going to be late," Carson sing-songed.

"We're not," Ted said.

"We are."

"I'll floor it the last two miles."

"He won't, you know," Carson said to Eddie. "But it's good to humor him."

They did, in fact, make in, with five minutes to spare. Eddie, becoming shy again, said, "Thanks, guys."

"Sure," Ted said.

"I'm just along for the ride," Carson said. He slung his bag over his shoulder and shook his hair back, losing all expression on his face, a snake shaking out of its skin. He got out of the car and walked towards the school doors without looking back.

Eddie paused a minute, hand on the door handle. "Thank you," he said again.

"Sure," Ted repeated.

Eddie shut the door behind him. Ted adjusted the car mirror and peered at his face, lifting his chin and running his thumb around his jaw line before giving up and leaving.

*****

Carson called his house and said, "Thom's going to let us drink at his house. Thank God. I was getting sick of trying to get the grass stains out of my Nikes."

"What did you do?" Ted said.

"Nothing, I just asked."

"Yeah. Sure. Okay."

"I did."

"You mean you whined and begged and -"

"Call it what you will."

"It's really okay, right? You're not just yanking me around to -"

"Give me a little credit, hmm? You're acting like we'll be drinking with the King of Spain or something."

"Am not," Ted said. He'd been in the kitchen, trying to slap a pizza together; his hands were coated with flour and bits of dough. The phone receiver felt sticky.

"Are too," Carson said, and Ted thought he was going to pursue the topic, but he must've gotten bored, because he just said, "Anyway, he said stop by next Saturday sometime. I said we'd bring booze."

"Great. Another chance to almost get busted."

"Oh, take a Valium. We'll be fine." Carson hung up. Ted slapped the flour off his hands.

Thom's house was smaller than Ted expected it to be, all red and white, tiny eye-like windows. He stood outside the door and shifted the vodka bottle inside the lining of his jacket; he'd risked raiding the liquor cabinet this time around. The only other option had been some blue stuff that his mother had gotten on a whim and then decided was disgusting, and he figured it was better to try to be a good guest than avoid possible detection.

Thom answered the door with a Chinese food container in his hand, chopsticks poking from the top. "Oh, hey. You find the place all right? The street's kind of easy to miss. Carson's not here yet, I'm kind of guessing he's lost."

"No, he's just...not on time. Ever."

"Oh. Okay. Want some of this?" Thom offered the container. "Sesame noodles. There's tons. I'm trying to get rid of them before they go bad."

"I just had something. Maybe later," Ted said, though the truth was he kind of did want some noodles, but his mouth seemed to be operating independently from his brain for some reason.

Thom shrugged and expertly raised the chopsticks to his mouth. "Come on in."

Ted stepped into the front hallway. There was a coat closet on the right and a table full of what was probably family pictures on the left. There were two placed in the center in plain wooden frames: one of a miniature Thom in a tiny black suit, with unruly hair and bottomless eyes, the other of an older Thom and a girl sitting in what appeared to be a restaurant. The girl hadn't come out well; she was in the middle of turning her head, so all that Ted could see was long brownish hair and a hint of nose. Thom was looking up at the camera blankly, one arm on the table, the other hand frozen on the back of the girl's chair.

"That's me and my girlfriend," Thom said when he saw Ted looking. "And that one there's me at my First Communion. Don't I look like one of those paintings you buy at, like, a border crossing? One of those little weird kids with the big eyes?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "Come downstairs, I'll show you the digs."

The basement smelled faintly musty. There was a ragged green couch pressed against the west wall, a grayish-red rug on the concrete floor, a green chair that must have been part of a set on the side, a low coffee table with a sketchbook on it, an ancient-looking stereo. There was a Ping-Pong table in the back, blocking a small flight of stairs, leading up to a side door that Ted guessed led to the outside.

"Swank," Ted said, taking the vodka out of his jacket and putting it on the coffee table.

Thom sat down in the green chair, one leg dangling over its arm. "Yeah. I think it's ugly as hell myself but I can't convince my dad to let me fix it up. He's not crazy about us even having furniture down here. Dude, you didn't need to bring anything. I could've scrounged something up." He put the container aside and examined the vodka.

"Kind of needed to. It's really nice of you to let us use your place and everything..."

Thom shrugged. "It's all right. I'm just glad to have people over. As long as we don't go upstairs and bother my parents everything'll be fine. You could set a bomb off down here and no one would hear it." He twirled the bottle. Ted looked at the Chinese food container. The noodles smelled tantalizingly peanutty. He put two fingers on the table, almost touching it but not quite. Thom put the bottle aside and indulgently pushed the container towards him. Ted picked it up.

"Anyway, Carson was being really persistent," Thom said. "I mean, he's cool and everything..."

"But he's a gigantic pain in the ass?" Ted levered noodles into his mouth and swallowed.

Thom laughed. "That's not very nice."

"I've known him since I was five. I'm allowed."

"Mmm," Thom said. He rolled his head. "You know, if you guys want to do this again, you can come in from the side door. I'll just leave it unlocked."

"Don't you worry about burglars?"

"What have we got to steal?" Thom stood up and stretched. Ted watched his shoulders come together, hands pointing to the ceiling. "I better go upstairs. Carson's probably standing on the porch."

"Don't count on it."

"You can, like..."

"Can I set something on fire?"

"Sure, go nuts." Thom went upstairs.

Carson, when he showed up, had managed to find a bottle of gin amongst his family's collection of mixers, and as the night wore on Ted watched Thom grow languid, then teasing and finally cheerfully profane, sprawled out like a dissolute prince in the green armchair, cigarette smoke curling around his temples.

*****

Ted liked Thom's house. He liked that there didn't seem to be any hard and fast rules other than don't wake Thom's parents up, he liked not having to worry about getting caught by the cops, he liked watching Thom in the armchair, talking with Carson, his hands never still. He even liked, in a grudging kind of way, the basement's ugly furniture and the mildewy smell and the cobwebs in the corner. He liked having somewhere to go.

*****

Occasionally, no one could find any alcohol to bring, so they'd venture out to some fairly shady liquor store that was lax about checking IDs, the three of them sweating bullets and talking in short sentences the whole way there, hiding the beer or the vodka or whatever else was available under the car seats on the way back, covered up with a jacket or bits of paper.

"Look, it's A Flock of Seagulls," Carson said on the way back from one such trip, pointing out the window. "Still walking."

"Who's that?" Thom said. He was tapping on the driver's side window in time to the radio.

"This kid we sort of know. Eddie," Ted said. He finished lighting his cigarette and squinted out the window. At least Eddie had a sidewalk to walk on this time around.

"Slow down, let's say hi," Carson said.

"Mmm," Thom said, slowing down.

"Hi, Eddie-almost-rhymes-with-Ted," Carson said loudly out the open window. "Where're you going?"

Eddie paused and blinked at the car, then grinned. "Oh...hey..." He approached, waving, and Ted was wondering where the kid's fragility had disappeared to, until Eddie stopped and leaned down, smelling heavily of burning, musky herbs. It immediately became fairly obvious he was stoned.

"Hi, you guys. I haven't seen you since...oh, hi, man. I don't know you. Hi, man."

"This is Thom," Carson said. "With an 'H.' Right, Thom?"

"Right," Thom said. "Hi."

"Hey..."

"Looks like you've been enjoying yourself," Carson said.

"Yeah, like...I was going to go study, except they did something to the library, changed the hours or something, and then I, like, thought I had nothing else to do, so...Dude, is this a Toyota? My mom drives a Toyota."

Ted could see Thom's interest piquing. "You don't, like, happen to have any..."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Some. It's not like the best..."

"Looking at you, I'd say it's pretty good," Ted said.

"We've got beer," Thom said. "Trade you."

"Uhmm?"

"Ted, move over," Thom instructed. "No, open the door first, then move over."

"Beg _pardon_, Your Majesty?"

"You're wasting valuable time, Tad," Carson said.

"Yeah, Ted. Valuable time."

Ted scooted over. Eddie sat down, smiling beatifically around him.

"Thank you, Ted," Thom said. "Ted gets first dibs."

Back at Thom's house, they would have raided the refrigerator but they were all too glutted to move.

*****

Eddie was good to have around, once his shyness died down; he was a sweet kid, and he wasn't stingy about sharing his pot. It made for a good balance.

Thom said, in the middle of one of the long, rambling discussions that tended to come when it was getting far too late, "Eddie, when are you going to get a date? You'd be all right if your hair wasn't all fucked up all the time. Like, I can introduce you to this girl I know..."

"You sound like my mother," Eddie said. "Just because _you've_ got a girlfriend..."

"Ex-girlfriend," Thom corrected.

"When'd this happen?" Carson said.

Thom shrugged. "I didn't, like, mark it on the calendar or anything. She's going to college in a couple months and it just didn't seem worth it."

"Sorry about that, man," Eddie said.

"Well, it wasn't like I was going to marry her. You didn't answer my question."

"I'm gonna die a bachelor," Eddie said. "I'm fine with that. There's no shame in that."

Carson heaved himself off the couch. "I need to pee."

"You're just leaving because you're going to be next," Ted said.

"I don't kiss and tell." Carson walked quietly up the stairs.

"Ted, when are you going to get a date?" Eddie said.

"Mmm," Ted said. If he was going to be honest, he would say he hadn't thought about it. The girls at school had never been that appealing: too giggly, too sisterly, too likely to hate the kind of music he liked. The last thing he'd had that was even close to a date was last summer, where he'd been working the grill at the country club alongside a girl named Karen, who had to have been at least five years older and two inches taller than he was but didn't seem to care. Every few days she'd pull him into the walk-in refrigerator where the country club kept the milk and lettuce, and the two of them were both burnt to a crisp from the August sun so every touch was painful, shivering in the dark, artificial cold while trying not to make a sound and alert the manager. He hadn't seen her since summer had ended.

"I don't date," Ted said, and related the story, keeping his voice even and slightly bored except during the appropriately funny parts, exaggerating enough to be entertaining. When he was finished, Eddie said, "You didn't ever get caught?"

Ted shook his head. Thom reached across the table and took another cigarette.

"You," he said, gesturing with it, "are so full of shit."

*****

"Mind if I bring someone around next time?" Eddie asked.

"Who?" Thom said.

"He was in Oklahoma! with me." Eddie was in the Drama Club. "Dave Rodriguez. He's harmless."

"Aww," Carson said. "The kid picked up a stray. That's so cute."

"He's not a _stray_," Eddie said. "He's just...I feel sorry for him, okay? Plus it's a chance for all of you to stop calling me 'kid.'"

"The basement's getting crowded," Ted said.

Thom shrugged. "He's not, like, eleven or something, right?"

"No. Jeez."

"It's cool," Thom said. "More people to chip in for booze."

Dave turned out to be tiny and small-boned, faintly and indefinably birdlike. His hair was a mass of cowlicks. He looked about ten, which was mildly worrisome once they broke out the drinks, and Carson said, "We're not going to be arrested for corrupting a minor, right?"

Dave just smiled. Ted couldn't help but feel bad for him; it was always mildly godawful entering into a group of people who already knew each other. He supposed the other guys knew that too. Eddie, who was probably feeling doubly bad, said, "You've done this before, right?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure. Of course. Millions of times." Dave took the beer Thom offered him and spun it in his hands, somehow managing not to spill anything. He stopped the cup in mid-spin and just held it, as though he were trying to do an impression of Sean Connery with a martini. "I like your basement."

"Nah, you don't," Thom said, grinning. "'S'okay. I don't like it either."

"Nobody likes this basement," Carson said. "You'd be better off if you just said, 'Wow, this place looks like shit.' He's used to hearing it."

"'Hi, Thom, how's it going, place looks like shit,'" Thom said. "Or something."

"It's a vocabulary builder," Carson said. "Let's all describe Thom's basement, shall we? Uninviting."

"Utilitarian," Ted said.

"Square," Eddie said.

Thom poked Dave's arm. "Try one. C'mon, it'll be fun."

"Um."

"Pick something that doesn't start with 'u,'" Carson said. "Ted, you totally ripped me off."

"We'll discuss this later, Carson."

Dave was trying to look blasè, but only managing bewildered. He took a long pull at his beer, didn't choke or sputter. He looked around the room, taking everything in, absorbing it, studying it. His face brightened; bouncing in his seat, he declared, "Appalling!"

Thom patted his shoulder. "He got one. That's good."

"Not as many syllables as I would have liked, but that's okay," Carson said. "Your hair's sticking up. You look like Alfalfa. Can I call you Alfalfa?"

"Could be worse," Dave said. "You could say I looked like Darla."

"That was next on the list."

"You let him start in you, he'll never stop," Thom said. "Do you, like, carry pepper spray or something? That sometimes works."

"Only for a moment," Ted said.

Eddie just smiled and sparked a joint, pleased with himself.

Ted supposed it was a measure of how much they all wanted a little brother.

*****

By the time school let out on Friday, it was pouring rain. Ted had the car that day; he grudgingly sought out his sister after school got out and offered a ride, but Lisa was already heading towards her boyfriend's car. Besides, she had weird romantic notions about getting drenched.

Carson was standing by the bus stop, already soaked, staring at the bus schedule. Ted pulled over and rolled down the passenger side window. "Hey! Need a ride, or do you want to drown?"

"It's supposed to come in two minutes." Carson was wearing bizarre Jackie O. sunglasses, hair matted to his head.

"Yeah, when has that ever been true? Come on."

"I don't really..."

"Will you just get over here?"

Carson got in the car, sat down stiffly and stared at the rear view mirror. "Ugh. Total drowned rat. This was a brand new jacket."

"It'll dry. What time am I getting you for Thom's? They're supposed to be showing _2001_ on TV or something."

"Mmm," Carson said. There was an unfamiliar absent quality to his voice, a balloon deflated. "I have this family thing. Diana's home for a few days, we're all supposed to go to dinner."

"When'd she get in? I haven't seen her."

"Last night, sometime. She's probably been shopping all day with my mom."

"Oh. Well, tell her I said hi."

"Sure."

"So what's with the sunglasses?" Ted said.

"I'm trying to look like a movie star." Carson tilted his head, not looking away from the mirror.

"Really. It's not working."

"Oh. Well, drat." Carson adjusted the glasses. There was a streak of mottled purple creeping over his left temple, showing where the sunglasses' frames narrowed.

"Carson, what -"

"What?"

"What happened to you?"

Carson shrugged. "Nothing."

"That's not nothing."

"Nothing. A couple of people just took exception to me, that's all." Carson looked back at the rear view mirror. "I think I kind of like it, actually. Makes me look unnatural."

"Carson -"

"It's really fine."

"But what happened?"

"Just walked by the wrong people yesterday." Carson tapped his fingers against his lips. "I think they would've gotten bored if I knew how to keep my mouth shut. You'd think I'd have learned not to make stupid jokes by now."

"You should tell someone. Your mom or whatever."

"It'll just upset her."

"You should -"

"_Don't,_ all right? Don't tell me what to do. It's not your problem. I can deal with it. It's fine."

"It's not fine. Look at your face, for Christ's sake. If some assholes..."

"There's nothing I can do," Carson said. "It's not like I can make them stop."

Carson's face was pale, battered, still soft with baby fat. There was nothing Ted could say to make it all better, and he felt small and furious and ashamed somehow. He stroked the back of Carson's head, brown hair leaving damp on his fingers.

"Diana's still at college," Carson said, voice gone lopsided, tears sliding out from behind the sunglasses. "Shouldn't have lied. Sorry."

"It's okay."

They were parked outside of Carson's house; Carson pulled away and started getting his stuff together.

"I'm gonna go."

"Yeah," Ted said. "You sure you don't want to come tonight?"

"Don't really want to. Maybe when it fades a little. Don't tell anyone about this, okay?"

"Oh, no. No, no, no. You'll be all right?"

"I'll be okay."

"Yeah?"

"You know." Carson got out of the car. "Bye."

"Bye."

He didn't try to start the car again until Carson had gone inside.

*****

"Carson can't make it tonight," Ted told Thom. "Family thing." He was sprawled on Thom's basement couch, smoking a cigarette, watching Thom set up the TV. They'd brought it down from Thom's brother's room, taking baby steps down the stairs.

"Aww. Really?" Thom looked up. "I guess it happens."

"Yeah."

Thom poked at the TV again. "How many wires and stuff does this thing need? I keep thinking we missed one." He adjusted a cable; the picture jumped into sudden clarity.

"I think you got it."

"Oh? Yay," Thom said. He came and sat down on the couch, checking the TV screen before lighting his own cigarette. "We'll have to get up if we want to change the channel, but I don't think that'll happen, considering we're all a bunch of lazy asses."

"Could throw things," Ted said. "Shoes. Empty cans."

"That could work. Make Dave stand up and poke it with a stick." Thom grinned at him. Smoke wound around his fingers like a thin, lazy snake.

"Look what I can do," Ted said.

"What?"

Ted wedged his cigarette in between his ring and middle finger, making a loose fist. The cigarette pointed straight up in the air, a tiny torch. Ted pressed his lips into the empty space under his index finger and inhaled deeply. The cigarette tip glowed; smoke rushed down his throat, into his lungs. He exhaled and said, "Don't even need to touch it."

"Lemme try." Thom made a fist, too tightly, and lifted his hand to his mouth. The cigarette hardly glowed at all; Ted could almost see Thom inflating.

"No, like this." He tapped Thom's fingers. Idly, he thought, _Never touched him before, isn't that interesting -_ Thom didn't immediately get what he was doing, almost dropped the cigarette.

"Try not to set yourself on fire," Ted said. He loosened Thom's grip; his hands were warm, fingers rough with calluses. "Now do it again. Not too hard -"

Thom choked and sputtered.

"Wow. I've never..."

"I suck," Thom wheezed.

"Maybe a little, yeah."

Thom leaned back and considered him, half-smiling, eyes lazy. Before Ted could start to squirm someone knocked on the basement door, and Thom got up to let them in.

*****

When Carson showed up again the next week, his face as clear as it had ever been, he brought a bottle of brandy. He sat next to Ted on the couch, saying, "Try not to rip it apart in a frenzy, okay?" to the assembled throng. Ted said nothing and squeezed his shoulder.

The brandy was potent; God knew where Carson had found it. Ted's head began to spin after two drinks, but he didn't really care.

Carson started staggering towards the door at sometime past eleven. "Heading out."

"You come in drunk, your mom's going to kill you," Ted said.

"Not if she doesn't see me." Carson put a stick of gum in his mouth. "Do I smell like smoke?"

"I can smell you from here," Thom said cheerily.

"Oh. Okay, then." Carson shut the door quietly after him.

"What are we going to do about the kid?" Eddie said. Dave was curled up in the green chair, head tilted back, fingers twitching.

"Aw, he went down for his nap," Ted said.

"He's gonna drool all over the furniture," Thom said. "Think I could steal his pants without him noticing?"

"Guys, we shouldn't...Besides, his underwear probably has little smiley faces on them," Eddie said. "Why should I have to look at that?"

"Or days of the week," Ted said.

"Ten bucks it's the _wrong_ day of the week, too," Thom said.

"Nah. His mom probably picks them out. She'd know the day. At least, I hope she would," Ted said.

Dave stirred and blinked at them. "What're you..."

"Hey, Dave, what day is it?" Thom said. "Can we check your underwear and find out?"

"You guys suck." Dave shoved himself out of the chair. "I'm going home."

"Aw, come on..." Thom said.

"Gotta," Dave said and shrugged. "Curfew."

"Yeah, I should go too," Eddie said.

"Dude, you can't leave me alone in the basement with all this shit around..."

"I'm staying," Ted said and cracked another beer. "My parents _trust_ me."

"Yay," Thom said. "Cleanup crew."

"Don't count on it."

"You know, I can stay if it's a thing..." Eddie said.

Thom waved his hand dismissively. "It's fine."

"Oh, okay. Good."

"You know I wouldn't have cleaned nothing, right?" Dave said, grinning.

"Yeah."

"Good."

The door shut after Eddie and Dave. Ted finished the beer off and got to his feet. "What should we do with this stuff?"

"Eh." Thom shrugged. "Just gather it up and I'll get rid of it tomorrow. I'm the only person who really uses this room, anyway." He crossed the room and turned down the stereo. "God, this thing is a piece of shit. Might as well listen to static."

"Should ask for a new one."

"I just got a new stereo. I might have to move it from my room to here."

"Spoiled brat," Ted said, grinning.

"Spoiled brat with a new stereo, though."

"Any good?"

Thom shrugged. "Pretty good."

"Can I hear it?"

Thom started to smile, stopped mid-way through. "Help me clean up first. And be careful, I don't want to wake my folks up."

Ted sprawled out on Thom's bright orange carpet, the shag tickling the back of his neck, all of Thom's windows wide open because they weren't supposed to be smoking, Thom's stereo purring away. Thom blew smoke rings at the ceiling; Ted reached out his fingers and let Thom put an unlit cigarette on his palm.

"How are we supposed to not wake your parents with this?" Ted said. "Isn't it sort of, I don't know, loud?"

"Van Morrison doesn't wake them up, U2 does. Don't ask me why."

The song changed to Tupelo Honey. Ted said, breathing smoke like a dragon, "Lyrics don't exactly make sense. I mean, dumping tea in the middle of the ocean? Isn't that kind of a waste?"

"You're not supposed to listen to the words," Thom said. "It's a slow-dance song. A makeout song."

Ted snorted. "Yeah, and you would know all about that, wouldn't you?"

"I know more than _you,_" Thom said. "You've never even kissed a girl, I bet."

"Have too," Ted said, and wished he didn't sound quite so grade school. "So you used to get together with your ex-girlfriend and slow-dance..."

Thom rolled over onto his stomach, peering down at Ted's face. "Sure, it started out that way." He leered.

"Oh, please."

"Hey, just because you wouldn't know technique if it bit you -"

"_Technique?_"

"Yeah. Technique."

Ted began laughing.

"Shut up, you'll wake my dad."

"Technique. Like it's reading a fuckin' _manual_-"

"You say the right things, make the right moves-"

"And she melted, right?" Ted lolled his head, trying to pitch his voice higher. "'Oh, Thom, Thom, encircle me in your manly arms-'"

Thom slapped his shoulder. "Fuck you. It's not like that. You don't understand."

"Oh, yeah?" Ted stubbed out his cigarette. "So show me."

"What?"

"This famous technique of yours."

"Please. It doesn't count when it's you."

"I knew it. No game."

"Goddamnit - All right, stupid, I'm going to do my best to teach you a few things. You're a girl. You're a fuckin' _ugly_ girl, but what the hell."

"Date's off to a great start."

"This isn't a date, it's a lesson. Now sit up."

Ted sat up. "Can I even get some flowers first?"

"I repeat, fuck you. Anyway. So you're in the car or at the movies or wherever, she's sitting like this -" Thom jerked Ted's limbs into place, arms folded primly across his chest. "And you talk about what she wants to for a while -"

"At the movies?"

"Ever heard of whispering? Anyway, you're fine, you like each other, you put your arm like this." Thom rested an arm around Ted's shoulder, fingers brushing his collar. "You sit like that for a while -"

"Your hands smell like garlic."

Thom smacked the back of his head lightly. "Then you slide in like this, so your hip's touching hers and if you've done everything right she'll let you lean in and do this." He kissed the tip of Ted's nose lightly, quick peck, really.

"Isn't that a little weird? Nose and everything?"

"You can't just say, 'hi how are you, now I'm going to clean your tonsils with my tongue.' Jesus. And then if she's still into it you go like this." He cupped Ted's face with both hands, kisses like warm water on his forehead, cheeks, closed eyes. "And then you got to let her decide what she wants to do. So hopefully she'll kiss you back. You're the girl. Now you kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me, dumbass. You want to learn, right?"

Ted ran his tongue over his lips. Thom raised his eyebrows at him. Ted put a steadying hand on Thom's shoulder and leaned in, getting most of Thom's upper lip, bitter with tobacco, pillowy soft. Thom shoved him away.

"I said kiss me, not slobber all over me like my dog. What's wrong with you?"

"_Nothing,_" Ted said irritably, and jerked Thom to face him. "You're at a weird angle." He grabbed the back of Thom's neck and tried again, getting Thom's full mouth this time around. Ted closed his eyes and tried to remember if Cary Grant had kissed Katharine Hepburn in _The Philadelphia Story_, but he couldn't really picture the scene and Thom was stroking his back lightly, encouragingly, the heat of his body radiating through Ted's clothes. Ted pressed against his chest, losing his balance, and they were on the floor, his stomach against Thom's, Thom's greedy, open mouth all like silk inside, hands fallen to the floor, Thom arched up against him, and he wanted to hear Thom moan, just once, and Van Morrison was singing, "She's as sweet as Tupelo honey, she's an angel of the first degree," and Jesus fucking Christ, he was hard.

He was hard. And Thom was hard, too; Ted could feel his cock brushing against his through his jeans, and why was he hard in the first place, it was supposed to be a lesson, just a joke, and it had suddenly become not fucking funny anymore.

Ted shoved himself up, mouth going cold at the sudden rush of air. He wanted to speak, to say something like, "Well, the student has become the master," but he couldn't because he was scared he was going to cry if he opened his mouth.

Thom was bent forward, hands on his stomach. He glanced up, large eyes turned to all pupil, and then looked away, reaching for his cigarettes, and Ted knew he'd been lying too, hearing Thom's breath rasp in his chest, hands shaking as he tried to work his lighter.

Ted left.

He stumbled up the stairs of his house, not caring if he made any noise, went into the bathroom and ran cold water over his face. He stared at the mirror, trying to see if he'd changed, but the image kept blurring and he was thinking, _Why does it make sense to me, why does it make sense, why does it make sense,_ and the more he thought the more it made sense and he didn't want to think anymore.

He turned the water off, went to bed and stared at the ceiling for three hours.

*****

He had almost made it to the car when Carson cornered him. It was too late to pretend he hadn't noticed or to fiddle with his backpack until the moment had passed.

"Glad you're here," Carson said. "I could use a ride."

"I've kind of got to go somewhere, Carson."

"Where?"

"Places," Ted said, but Carson wouldn't be stopped, standing in front of the driver side door and staring impassively at him. "I'm not your chauffeur."

"I know, but you're still well-suited for the job."

"I'll drive you home, Carson, but that's about it. You owe me gas money."

Once he'd managed to get the car started, Carson said, "So tell me..."

"Chauffeurs don't make conversation."

"You're acting weird," Carson told him. "More than usual. I didn't think it was possible."

"No, I'm not."

"I haven't seen you for three weeks."

"Yeah, you have. In class. And I'm seeing you now. Against my will."

"You know what I mean."

"I've been busy," Ted said. He stared at the road ahead of him. Carson could spot a liar at five paces. If he didn't make eye contact, maybe it would be okay.

"I know philately's a consuming hobby, but I'm sure you can..."

"Yeah, whatever."

"We miss you," Carson said. There was no hint of a smile, no joke to be found. "It's just not the same. We miss you, Ted. Me and Eddie and Dave and Thom. Thom's been walking around like he's in mourning."

Something twisted in Ted's throat. "Yeah. I bet."

"Did you guys..."

"No."

"I was just -"

"No," Ted said. Fucking Carson. Fucking Carson who knew everything. "Where the hell do you want me to leave you off, anyway?"

"Ted..."

"_Everything_ is _fine_," Ted said, and then he had to pull over because he was going to lose it, right in front of fucking Carson. Banging his hands against the steering wheel, his voice choked and cracked in his own ears, he said, "Everything is fine, everything is fine."

Carson was thankfully silent; Ted pressed himself as far into the corner as he could to keep from being touched. He slumped against the car door and scrubbed his nose with the back of his hand.

"I miss you guys," he said. "I don't want..."

"Yeah," Carson said softly. "Yes, yes, yes."

"You know."

"Tad," Carson said. "Look."

"What?"

"Look over here. Come on."

Ted looked. Carson held out his hands, fingers curled into loose fists, knuckles pointing at him.

"Pick one."

"No," Ted said.

"Come on. Two out of three."

Ted pointed at Carson's right hand. Carson uncurled his fingers, showing his palm, covered in tiny lines, pale pink.

"You got me. You win."

Ted looked at him. Carson said, "Get it, Ted? You win."

*****

"The prodigal returns," Carson announced to Thom's basement. Ted was behind him, arms laden with the beer that Carson had snagged, using nothing but a fake ID and an unobservant liquor store clerk.

"Hey!" Dave was immediately up off the couch, arms outstretched to relieve the burden. "We thought you didn't like us anymore."

"You're assuming I liked you in the first place," Ted said and ducked when Dave tried to punch him, puppy dog tripping over its own feet. Dave gave up and went to put the beer on the table; Eddie, who had been sitting on the floor, deftly sidestepped him and put an arm around Ted, squeezing his shoulder.

"Hi," Ted said.

"Hey."

Thom was across the room, and Ted didn't want to look at him, didn't want to see his eyes. He settled for just saying, "Hi, Thom," and Thom said, "Hi, Ted," and then Ted went to try to rearrange the beer.

There was a huge spider web in the corner of the basement; after the third beer, Eddie said, "That. Is driving. Me crazy," and went to thwack at it with the empty can, which didn't do much good, and Carson and Dave took turns saying, "A little to the right, getting warmer, warmer, colder."

"Sorry," Thom mumbled beside him.

"It really doesn't matter," Ted said, watching Eddie's arms wave in the air.

"Yes, it _does_," Thom said. "It does, okay?"

It scared him to do it, but he turned his head. Thom was scratching patterns on the wood of the table, face blank, tiny frightened lights flickering in his eyes.

"Okay," Ted said. "It matters."

"You all right? I mean..."

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, me too."

They stared across the room. Thom said, "I figured you thought I had, like, the plague or something."

"Thom -" He turned. Thom was still staring fixedly into the corner of the room, with a set mouth and too bright eyes. Ted supposed he must look the same way.

Ted supposed that the scariest thing was that he would do the same thing again. And again.

He didn't want to give it up.

Ted grabbed Thom's shoulder roughly, kneading the muscles. He liked the feeling of Thom's T-shirt under his palm. "_Thom,_" he said again, softer.

"I know that sounds dorky."

"It's not..." He just didn't have the words, so he punched Thom's arm instead, not hard enough to hurt, the backs of his fingers brushing against bare skin. "You're such a dumbass."

Thom met his eyes. He looked like he wasn't sure if he wanted to smile or not. Ted tapped his arm again. "Dumbass."

Thom tapped him back this time. "_You're_ a dumbass."

"Oh, yeah?" Ted made to punch him, but it turned into more of a pat instead. "Dumbass, dumbass, dumbass."

Thom laughed, and his hands flew around Ted's body like birds.

"Would you two stop abusing each other and get over here?" Carson said. "We need help. I swear to God, you've got a nest of black widows living in this place."

"Mmm." Thom rose languidly, wandering over to the corner. Ted followed.

Eddie was in the middle of shooing the spider, not a black widow at all, just an ordinary spider, out the basement door with an empty cigarette pack, and Dave said, "Why don't you just squish it like a normal person?"

"But spiders are good," Eddie said. "They kill flies and stuff."

"_Charlotte's Web_ was just a book. And a bad cartoon," Carson said.

"I _liked_ the cartoon," Dave said. "With the little rat?"

"It frightens me how much you two know about kids' movies," Thom said.

"They're very in touch with their inner child," Ted said.

Eddie shut the door. "Run free, little spider! Run like the wind!"

"Spiders skitter," Carson said. "Running's not a spider thing."

"They might jog a little," Ted said.

"Ever seen a spider in Lycra shorts? Um, no."

Carson was weird. Ted rubbed his shoulder anyway. Eddie went to rescue another spider, Dave providing commentary and pretending he wasn't freaking out, and Thom said, "Unless those things are writing 'Some pig' in their webs, I want them all dead," his arm slung carelessly around Ted's shoulders, his body glowing heat.


End file.
